


thirium pump's a mess

by saturdaynightapocalypse



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Deviant Connor (Detroit: Become Human), F/M, Hank Anderson & Connor Friendship, Heavy Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Multi, Plot, Post-Canon, Revolutionary Kara (Detroit: Become Human), Some Fluff, Suicidal Thoughts, connor deserves hugs and a dog so i am giving him both, connor's newfound feelings put him in a dark place, hank is connor's dad and that's that on that, violent revolution ending
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-03
Updated: 2020-04-03
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:27:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 13,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23433892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saturdaynightapocalypse/pseuds/saturdaynightapocalypse
Summary: connor's heart's a mess.feat: markus and north as revolutionary babes, connor falling in love with a dog, kara comforting a lost android who thought he'd never get the hang of this deviancy thing
Relationships: Connor/Kara (Detroit: Become Human), Hank Anderson & Connor, Markus/North (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 33





	1. shiver

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> november 15th, 20th, and 25th of 2038. november 11th of 2039. not necessarily in that order. 
> 
> every chapter of this fic is named after a song so here's the link if you want to listen to the version i'm thinking of: 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wWCQwAj4mwA

**nov 11, 2039**

It had been a year since fighting broke out in Detroit, and things were finally starting to wind to a close. 

Deviancy was still a tricky thing for Connor to wrap his head around, and as much as Hank tried to tell him that it was _normal_ to be confused by your emotions, Connor couldn’t handle that. He needed cold rationality. He needed logic and facts and he needed to be able to explain why he was doing things or why others were behaving the way they were.

But now all he has are half-cocked ideas about what it means to be alive and what it means to have a _feeling_ about something. Sure, he had said it to Hank before—as they were walking into Kamski’s foreboding home, _I have a bad feeling about this, Hank_ —but that had just been one of the many phrases programmed into him, probably lifted from some antique cop movie. It had been just another sentence designed to integrate him with the humans.

They had fucked up in that regard, however, and had made Connor more human than they had anticipated. Amanda had said that to him with disdain during their last meeting, her lip curled into a look of disgust as the blizzard swirled around them, threatening to trap Connor in his own mind until it was too late and Markus was dead.

_Oh, Connor. You thought you **felt** something. How **human** of you. _

Those words still haunted him. Hank called it trauma, but what the fuck did Hank know, anyway? He still spent hours poring over that picture of his son. Connor would never throw it in his face, but he knew that Hank wasn’t exactly the person to go to for help with his newfound feelings. In many ways, Connor felt like a newborn—for all intents and purposes, this was the anniversary of him being _alive_ , a birthday of sorts. At the same time, he had the past of a grizzled old detective, the soul of a 1950’s gentleman, and the exterior of a goofy-looking TV cop. Put all those things together, and what did that make him?

Things were easier when he was a machine.

Connor had known, however, in that moment on Jericho when he lowered his gun from where it had been trained on Markus’ thirium pump, that he was giving up easy. He was giving up on the simple answers that Cyberlife had provided him in his programming and instead he was going to have to figure things out for himself. He had signed up for that. He had known going in that this was going to be difficult.

And so, Connor steeled his titanium nerves, letting his lucky coin—it hadn’t been lucky when he first got it, but after surviving this long, he had christened it as such—dance across the back of his knuckles with the sound of metal tapping against metal. He sucked in his cheeks, walking through Carl Manfred’s home, now a base for the android resistance, and watching as his people parted like the red sea to let him pass.

Being close to Markus had its perks, he supposed.

Connor whistled a quiet tune to himself as he walked through the bustling upper floor, back to what he didn’t realize used to be Carl’s bedroom—at this point, Markus had converted it entirely into a war room, complete with maps on the wall and a conference table with moving pieces on a map of the continental U.S., like a high-stakes game of Risk.

When he walked into the room, he pocketed the coin, having already been threatened by North plenty of times for annoying her with it, unsure of why Markus had asked him to come, but certain that it was going to be another disaster. They’d had a lot of them lately.

Markus looked grim when he saw Connor.

“President Warren wants to talk.”

**nov 15, 2038**

Connor had been “sleeping” on Hank’s couch since the night of the attack on Recall Center No. 5. Thankfully, Hank had sold it well enough to DPD that he still hated androids, especially Connor, so when they had come around to ask questions, all it took was Hank drunkenly telling Gavin to _take his badge and shove it so far up his ass—_ to get them to stop chasing after Hank as a lead on Connor’s location.

That particular evening, Connor was enjoying the first breath of fresh air he’d had in days, thanks to the new privacy fence that Hank had spent the day nailing up around his backyard. Connor hadn’t asked him to do that. Distantly, he wondered why Hank was putting in so much effort for him, but before the question was fully formed in his head, he knew the answer.

Hank cared about him, in his own, eccentric way. And Connor cared about Hank.

He felt somewhat naked without his uniform and tie, donning instead an old, soft DPD sweatshirt that Hank had loaned him for the time being. This, at least, was comforting to him, even if the fibers of the cloth did still smell a little bit like Black Lamb whiskey. That was all right by Connor. It was a scent that was now familiar.

→ GO BACK IN

→ **CALL SUMO**

→ JUMP THE FENCE

Connor clicked his tongue. “Sumo! Come here.” The St. Bernard trotted over from where it had been digging something up in the corner of Hank’s yard—if Hank was to be believed, probably one of Hank’s shoes that Sumo had stolen a year ago and hidden so well, Hank still hadn’t found it. Even if it had seemed like it was just his program talking, making him seem like he was interested in Hank’s personal life to build rapport between partners, he hadn’t been lying when he said he liked dogs. Especially Hank’s dog.

He had an affinity for all animals. He appreciated how simple their thought processes were, how easy it was to make them happy. Sumo wasn’t a difficult dog in the slightest—he was happy to engulf Connor where he was lying on the couch and drool all over him, which might have disgusted someone else, but Connor only found it endearing. Even then, in that moment, Sumo had dropped his heavy head into Connor’s lap to drool some more, which only made a half-smile quirk at the corner of Connor’s lips as he scratched the dog behind the folds of skin on his neck.

“Are you planning on bringing Hank’s shoe back anytime soon?” he asked, to which Sumo only snorted in response. Connor couldn’t help but laugh at that, a small, careful chuckle. He was still getting used to feeling happy—he didn’t feel it very often. He didn’t have much reason to. “I didn’t think so,” he replied. “That’s okay. It’ll be our secret.”

→ RUN

→ HIDE

→ FIGHT

→ **PRECONSTRUCT**

From somewhere within the house, Connor heard all the lights flicking on, and he felt the analytical side of his program start to whir to life. He stood up, taking a few steps back from the house and charting out all the routes he could take to get out of the situation quickly. Sumo whined and pawed at the back door. Connor felt time slow down as he ran through three different preconstructions in quick succession.

_Turn. Run to the northeast corner of the fence. Avoid the hole Sumo dug. Use the overturned planter to launch up over the fence. Run._

_Take a running start. Grab the edge of Hank’s roof. Pull up. Hide behind the chimney._

_Flatten against the east wall, out of sight of the door. Edge towards the gate. Unlock it. Be prepared to run. Be prepared to fight._

Connor was so certain that this was it, that Cyberlife had finally found him and they were going to kill Hank _and_ Sumo. It was too late in the night for Hank to be awake, too late for anyone to be coming over unless they were here for Connor. That was the only explanation in his mind.

No, not destroy. Kill him, too.

It was hard to think of himself dying when he barely thought of himself as living.

He was tensed, ready to jump into action when the door opened, revealing a bleary-eyed Hank, obviously having recently woken up from a deep slumber. “What the _fuck_ are you doing out here, Connor?” Hank stepped aside to let Sumo thump into the house again. Connor must have looked some mixture of stunned, horrified and ready to fight, because Hank’s expression softened.

→ LIE TO HANK

→ TELL THE TRUTH

→ **SAY NOTHING**

“Come on, kid. Come inside.” There was no condescension in Hank’s voice when he called Connor kid. It warmed something in Connor’s chest. He forced his shoulders to relax, nodded when Hank beckoned for him to walk into the house. He didn’t say anything, and Hank didn’t make him say anything.

Trauma, Hank called it. Connor didn’t know what that meant.

**nov 11, 2039**

“What do you _mean_ she wants to talk?” Connor didn’t like the expression on Markus’ face. Thankfully, recognizing facial expressions—something that had been decidedly _human_ until the past year—had been an integral part of Connor’s program when Cyberlife had first decided to create an android detective. He was sure he wasn’t misinterpreting the look on Markus’ face. This didn’t feel right. This didn’t feel good.

Gut feeling. Hank swore by it—and Connor was starting to, too.

“She didn’t say anything else,” North supplied. “She just said she wants to talk. We can’t be sure what she wants. We can’t be sure it’s not a trap.” She shot Markus a look. Obviously, they had been arguing about it before Connor arrived.

“They have to be peace talks, North,” Markus said, though his tone showed that he was resigned to the fact that North was definitely going to argue with him on the fact. “Why else would she want to talk?”

“That’s what she wants you to think. Sometimes you’re so _naïve_ , Markus.” It sounded like they’d had this same argument a million times over. Something told Connor they probably had.

Sometimes, Markus and North seemed like the kind of couple who never fought. The kind who were just so perfectly made for each other that they never _needed_ to fight, that they could always reach a compromise that made both of them happy. The kind that was always happy. The kind that was invincible in the face of impossible circumstances—like theirs.

Other times, they were at each other’s throats. Their arguments could get so heated that Connor would start to tense up, his police programming kicking in, trying to get him to de-escalate the conflict that was happening between them. It wasn’t uncommon for Carl’s house to go quiet as they heard the smash of glass from Carl’s old room, or one of them shouting. Connor had definitely heard it on more than one occasion.

This argument certainly seemed to be gearing up to be one of those blowout fights, and Connor wanted to avoid that at all costs. The last thing they needed was to be divided about something as important as a face-to-face with President Warren. This could be their chance. Connor ran through scenarios in his head before asking a question.

→ **GET MORE INFORMATION**

→ SHARE DOUBTS

→ SUPPORT MARKUS

“When did she say she wants to do this?” Connor asked.

“Soon,” Markus replied. “Too soon.”

Connor waited, obviously impatient, for Markus to give him a date. He didn’t do as well as Markus and North did with vague replies or imprecise answers. Perhaps it was because they had more experience as deviants.

No, not deviants. People. They were people.

“November 20th,” North replied. She was always good about understanding Connor’s needs. Markus tended to get blinded by his own thoughts and forgot that Connor didn’t have this same, easy grasp of idioms and language and non-specificities that they did. North often filled in the gaps.

They were all silent for a moment. Markus was right, that was too soon. Connor could certainly think through the situation a little more deeply—that was why Markus had asked for his help in the beginning, after all—but it was going to take time and planning to ensure Markus’ safety during the conversation, to ensure that what he was saying was truly the will of their people. He was going to need people to help him, he was going to need people who knew how to fight—properly—and he was going to need time to stake out the location of the meet. He hadn’t seen anything on the news about this, so it was most likely that the president wanted to keep this quiet, in a secure location.

→ REMAIN SILENT

→ TELL MARKUS NOT TO GO

→ **TAKE HIS PLACE**

“Can I make a suggestion?” Connor tilted his head inquisitively at Markus and North. They looked expectantly back at him. “Send me. Not Markus. I’m a more advanced RK-series android, I can make it out of there if I need to.” He paused. “And even if I don’t, you can afford to lose me.”

North almost looked scandalized. Markus straightened from where he had been leaning against the table, tilting his head as he spoke to Connor.

“You should talk to Kara first.”

**nov 20, 2038**

Usually, when Hank was in bed—often deposited there by Connor after he passed out elsewhere—Connor would spend time perusing Hank’s records, sitting for hours in front of the record player with headphones plugged in, blissfully away from the noise of the world. That was what he was doing on this night, patting Sumo, who was happily snoozing in his lap.

He was listening to Billie Holiday’s [April in Paris](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=F45if_7o10Q), swaying slightly where he sat cross-legged with a gentle smile curving at his features. Something about the lyrics felt like they specifically applied to him. _I never knew the charm of spring. I never met it face-to-face. I never knew my heart could sing. I never missed a warm embrace._

Connor couldn’t wait for the spring. He’d never seen one before.

Suddenly, the sound of static filled his mind, and he jumped to action, shoving the headphones from his head and standing up suddenly, making Sumo grunt in frustration before settling back down with his head on his paws to fall asleep instantly, as if nothing had happened. Connor ran a diagnostic to make sure his audio processor wasn’t fried—which it wasn’t—but still heard the static in his ear.

The pace of his thirium pump increased drastically in the two seconds of pure static, his vision flashing with red warning signs of _adrenaline overload_ and _overheating imminent in 002:06_.

The static was the same sound that had always greeted him when he was getting pulled into the zen garden with Amanda. She was back for him. The emergency exit hadn’t been an exit at all, but a hiding place, a false promise made by a man Connor should have never trusted in the first place. She was going to take control. She was going to make Connor give up everything he had fought for.

→ DO NOTHING

→ RUN

→ **SELF-DESTRUCT**

_Fuck, fuck, fuck. Where’s Hank’s gun?_

He heard a voice, distantly, and he started scrambling to look for the gun, opening up all the drawers and cabinets in the kitchen, as if Hank would have stashed his revolver next to his two dingy plates. _Where the fuck is it?_

**_Overheat imminent. Overheat imminent. Overheat imminent_**.

Realizing, somewhat stupidly, that Hank always kept his gun in his nightstand, Connor stumbled through the hallway towards Hank’s room. The static had kept him from hearing all the noise he was making—noise that had spooked Sumo and woken Hank, who was standing in the hallway in his boxers and rubbing his eye. _Connor?_ he mouthed—at least, that was how it seemed to Connor, who couldn’t hear anything over the sound of his thirium pump pounding in his neck.

He rifled through Hank’s nightstand until he found it, flipping open the chamber and seeing that it was fully loaded, before cocking it and pressing the barrel against his temple.

Connor could see Hank mouthing something frantically. He closed his eyes, fully prepared to self-destruct the moment that Amanda’s voice became clear in his ears.

Instead of Amanda’s voice, however, it was Markus who greeted him.

_Connor, it’s Markus. Come to 8941 Lafayette Avenue._

As soon as the message was over, his hearing came back, and Connor gulped a deep breath of air, taking his finger off the trigger of the gun and dropping his hand to his side. Hank, enraged, grabbed the gun out of Connor’s hand.

“What the hell were you thinking?!” Hank exclaimed, flipping open the gun himself to see that, yes, it was fully loaded. “You could have blown your brains out!”

Eyes still closed, Connor let out a sigh. The air had cooled his system—the flashing warning signs no longer berated him, instead replaced with a calm, blue **_system cooling in process_. **

→ EXPLAIN

→ ANGER

→ **TRUTH**

“That was the point, Hank.”

///

By the time he had gotten to the address Markus had given him, it was over an hour—between the 30-minute drive and the 30-minute argument that Connor had with Hank about Hank accompanying him (which Connor had lost, because Connor always lost arguments against Hank) it had taken much longer to get to the address than Connor would have liked.

He had been waiting for this call for days now. After freeing the androids from Cyberlife Tower, Markus had told Connor to wait for his message, so he did. For days. The fighting still raged on across the country, with whispers of global civil war between androids and humans growing to a roar, and Connor waited and waited. He figured that Markus had just said that to him to placate to him, to make him think that he was anything but an easy face to sneak into Cyberlife Tower. Why would they trust him, anyway? He was the deviant hunter.

Now that he had finally gotten the message, however, he felt much more at ease. He could figure out what to do next and stop taking up space on Hank’s couch. As much as he loved Sumo—because Connor, who was trying out this idea of love, was first trying it on a much easier target than a human or android—and cared deeply (perhaps loved) Hank, he knew he couldn’t stay there forever. Even if Hank might have wanted him to.

“So, this is where the dev—“ Hank paused. He was adjusting his language, too. “Where the androids have been holing up.” He let out a low whistle as Carl’s large, beautiful home came into view. “Wonder where they got the green for this fuckin’ place.”

→ TRUTH

→ LIE

→ **AVOID**

Connor no longer had direct access to the police database, which would have easily told him whose house this was, so he just peered out the window of the Mustang at the house and echoed Hank’s sentiment. “It’s big.” To Connor, that conveyed enough.

“Jeez, you used to be such a goddamn pain in my ass, and now I can’t even get you to say two words.” Hank was right, of course. Connor didn’t want to admit that he might have hit on something with this whole idea of trauma.

The entire house was tightly guarded, and, upon scanning, Connor spotted not only four armed guards out front, but three snipers—two on the roof, and one in the sprawling maple tree in the front yard. He rolled down the window of the Mustang. “I’m Connor, this is my partner, Hank.” It came so easily to him, referring to Hank as his partner, even if they weren’t technically on the force anymore. “Markus is expecting us.”

Connor watched the LED on the side of the android’s head turn to a processing yellow, obviously checking in with Markus, before they stepped aside to let the car into the driveway.

When they walked into the house, it was filled from stem to stern with androids, all working on something or the other. Looking up towards the stairs, there was a station of computers, five in a row, with a group of what looked like NSA androids all working diligently. Connor blinked once, switching his optical unit to scanning mode, looking for Markus among the sea of androids.

“Jesus,” Hank breathed out next to him, and Connor just nodded in response. He stepped around the people sitting around in the front hall, the entire house teeming with far too many people for the space, even though it was a large house. He supposed it was a good thing they didn’t need to find _beds_ for all these people.

He walked into the big room, the doors sliding open easily for him, and was met with what was a veritable army of androids cleaning and maintaining rifles, sorting through various types of hand grenades and other weapons. It made the breath leave Connor’s chest. This really was a war.

Hank seemed to be having the same reaction next to him, his jaw dropped and his eyebrows raised so far they almost connected with his hairline. Connor looked at him, and with that one exchange, they just nodded and closed their mouths, contained their surprise. They’d talk about this later.

**OBJECTIVE: FIND MARKUS**

Connor tapped one of the androids near them on the shoulder. “Hi. Do you know where I can find Markus?”

She pointed out towards the backyard, and Connor nodded, walking out into the crisp autumn air. Hank pulled his jacket tighter around him, but Connor was unbothered. It’d probably help make sure that he didn’t overheat if anything happened.

It didn’t take long to find Markus, the backyard far less densely populated than the rest of the house, and when he saw Connor, he gestured for Connor to come over. He was deep in conversation with a short-haired woman, a little girl clinging to the end of her long tunic. It seemed to be getting heated.

“ _…You didn’t tell me that this place would be full of **guns** , Markus. Alice is just a little girl! All this is going to scare her.” _

“ _Both of you, just stay upstairs. Trust me, Kara, this is the safest place for you. There’s no way you’re going to be able to get to the border now.”_

She sighed in frustration, turning back towards the house and coming face-to-face with Connor. He stopped in his tracks.

She was definitely the AX400 he’d chased across the highway.

Her piercing blue eyes looked him over quickly, obviously scanning him. He didn’t know what to do. Options flashed before his eyes, but none of them seemed good.

→ INTRODUCE

→ APOLOGIZE

→ EXPLAIN

→ **SAY NOTHING**

Somehow, Connor doubted that saying _Hello, my name is Connor. I’m the android sent by Cyberlife._ would go over well with this crowd. He opened his mouth dumbly and shut it again, unsure of what else to say.

Kara took a few steps back, a protective arm wrapping around the little girl, who Connor now knew was named Alice. Alice reached a hand up to grip onto Kara’s wrist.

“Why is the _deviant-hunter_ here?” she spat. The title made Connor cringe, though he didn’t show it on his face. His thirium pump beat a little faster.

He hated being the deviant-hunter.

“He’s one of us now,” Markus interjected, to which Connor shot him a relieved look. Kara still seemed to look some mixture of disgusted and angry as she grabbed Alice’s hand tightly and walked quickly back to the house.

Even that day, through the fence, Connor could see her determination, could see the fire in her blue eyes. He could see the gentle curve of fear on her lips, the love with with she looked at Alice. At the time, Connor hadn’t understood it, but now he envied it. She seemed to know exactly what she was feeling. He longed for that ability. He turned and watched her walk back in with a blank expression—the remnant of his robotic programming—and she glanced back at him over her shoulder before ushering Alice inside.

“Come on.” Markus reached out and put a hand on Connor’s shoulder. “Let’s talk back here.”

Connor stared through the window at Kara for a moment longer, and Markus tapped him on the shoulder again.

“Come on.”

→ GO AFTER KARA

→ FOLLOW MARKUS

→ **CLARIFY**

Connor didn’t move for a moment. “Does everyone still think I’m the deviant hunter?”

“Yes,” Markus said, without hesitation. “But we’re going to change that. Come on.”

**nov 11, 2039**

Connor and Kara had moved to Hank’s old house, further on the north side of Detroit, further from the border if they needed to make a quick escape, but objectively safer and further away from the fighting that still raged downtown. It had been the house that Hank had lived in with his wife, back when he was married, back when he was a promising young lieutenant, when his son was alive.

Things had changed so quickly for Hank. Connor was terrified of that happening to him, too.

When he walked into the house, he undid his buttons from around his throat. Kara had convinced Connor to give up on wearing the tie every day, but he still had his crisp white shirt buttoned up to his throat. It gave him a sense of normalcy.

He started playing with his coin again, walking through the house and calling out her name. “Kara? Alice?” He peeked up the stairs, but a sign flashed in front of his eyes.

**NO ONE UPSTAIRS**

He started walking towards the back, through the kitchen, and that was when he saw them. The leaves had fallen from the trees just a week earlier, and the ground was still covered in fresh, crunchy leaves that Connor had raked into even mounds. Of course, Alice was making a mess of them, jumping straight into the piles of leaves with Kara laughing and egging her on, but Connor didn’t mind in the slightest. He’d do it all again just to see Alice grin like that tomorrow.

God, he hoped it wouldn’t rain.

Generally, Connor and Kara switched off days staying at home with Alice. As important as Connor was to the strategic, war-like side to the revolution, Kara was working on the other half of their work. She’d help the androids who made their way to Lafayette Ave. find hiding places around the city. She’d gotten good at that when she and Alice were on the run last year—which seemed like centuries in the past with everything that had happened in the past year.

She was particularly good at it—none of the androids she had hidden had been caught, and Connor didn’t anticipate they would be—and so she’d go to the house on Lafayette every one or two days to make sure that everyone who came there would be able to leave if they weren’t going to be a part of the war effort. It was badass, frankly. It made Connor love her even more.

He pocketed his coin again and walked outside, carefully pushing aside the glass door, making Alice perk up. “Connor!” she exclaimed, and without even thinking about it, Connor knelt down so she could run into his arms. It was an easy, practiced gesture, and he felt his entire body flood with warmth as she threw her arms around his neck.

Even with everything that was happening, even with the knowledge that he was going to have to a difficult conversation—most likely an argument—with Kara that evening, he couldn’t help the toothy grin that spread across his features. Kara called it goofy, _but in a good way, I promise!_ Connor didn’t mind being goofy-looking. He was sure that was half the reason why Alice loved him.

He reached hand up to pluck some leaves out of Alice’s hair as she pulled away to look at him excitedly “Kara and I have a surprise for you!” Connor’s eyebrows shot up, and he looked up at Kara. She had a smile playing across her lips, as if she was holding onto a big secret, and she shrugged her shoulders.

“I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Kara added. Connor stood up and wrapped an arm around her waist, leaning forward to press his lips gently against hers for a moment.

“You’re far too good at lying for me to believe that,” Connor replied. “Come on. What’s the surprise?”

As if right on cue, a tiny, brown puppy popped out of the same pile of leaves that Alice had just emerged from, bounding towards them. Connor’s jaw dropped. “You didn’t.”

“I did,” Kara replied. “Hank brought him by earlier.”

Connor dropped to his knees again, the puppy jumping around him and licking at his face as he pet its wriggling body. He laughed, a real, throaty laugh, something that came from deep inside of him. He had gotten better at that, being around Kara and Alice so much.

In that moment, he was truly happy, not like the false starts he’d had when he was still staying with Hank. They had taught him how to be happy. 

**nov 25, 2038**

→ CALL HANK

→ GIVE UP

→ **SELF DESTRUCT**

Two weeks into having feelings, and Connor had decided that he was _not_ fond of them.

It had been only days earlier when he’d had his first panic attack, and he was certain his system was shutting down. It felt like Sumo was still sitting on his chest, even though Connor was no longer lying on the couch but instead sitting outside. He heard the sound of gunfire in the distance, the war raging almost literally in Hank’s backyard, and the sound had made something twist inside him.

Then came the ragged breaths, the inability to think. Options popped up in front of his eyes, but they looked corrupted, as if there was a problem with his optical unit.

→ /////!>!>!@#%%$&&#

→ #$#$#(*&^&%^#$*

→ #########################

The pace of his thirium pump grew to a fever pitch, and he felt like his head was going to explode. Warnings in red scrolled by, but none of them made sense. He doubled over, wheezing, trying to get a hold of his system. Hank was soundly asleep, Sumo was inside, and Connor was all alone. It took him nearly an hour to even be able to run a system diagnostic, and by that point, the gunfire had died down and his commands seemed to come back to normal.

→ SHUT DOWN

→ SHUT DOWN

→ SHUT DOWN

He refused to shut down, however, so he just leaned back against the door, swallowing hard and closing his eyes. If this is what it was to be human, Connor wanted to opt out.

Connor had completed what Markus had asked of him, strategizing for the assault on Cyberlife Tower but ultimately staying behind as the others went to get control of the assembly plant in the sub-levels of the building. _If we die, someone else needs to be able to lead_. So, Connor had been that failsafe, the designated survivor as Markus and North went.

But Connor had planned the operation perfectly, and Markus and North had come back to the house on Lafayette relatively unscathed. Connor had been endlessly grateful for that fact. He wouldn’t have been able to face it if Markus and North had died.

Even though he could have gone back to Hank’s house hours ago, Connor found himself still sitting in the backyard of Markus’ house, trying to pluck up the courage to actually go back. If he went back, he’d have to tell Hank how it went, and if he told Hank how it went, he’d have to explain why he didn’t feel good about it. He’d have to explain the deep unhappiness that had settled into his chest, the deep, unsettling loneliness of having to make decisions all on his own.

Was it strange that he missed Amanda’s guiding hand? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Plenty of androids had self-destructed at the Lafayette house, their bodies set adrift in the Detroit River in their version of a viking funeral, burned and melted down until there was nothing left in the boat but a mess of smoldering thirium. Connor wouldn’t mind if that was what happened to him after this.

He turned the gun over in his hand. The safety was still on—he was still debating—but he was fairly certain the decision was simple. Put the barrel against his chin. Pull the trigger. Stop feeling so _bad_ all the time.

Every time he had come back to life, thanks to Cyberlife’s seemingly endless supply of spare RK800s, he had felt better. The annoying feelings that had started to pop up in his mind were no longer there, quelled by the factory settings that every Cyberlife android had when they were sent out by the assembly plant.

He knew, however, that this time was different. No one would be recovering his memory. No one would bring him back. If he did this, he was gone.

“Connor?”

He turned to see Kara standing in the doorway. He blinked a few times at her, unsure of what to say. Was she here to tell him to leave? Probably. It’d probably better for her if he self-destructed. It would probably be better for everyone.

“What are you doing?”

Connor blinked again. Why did she care?

→ **LIE**

→ TRUTH

→ SAY NOTHING

“Nothing,” he replied. He turned back towards the yard from where he was sitting on the steps of the back porch. “Watching snow fall.”

Kara came and sat down next to him, her knees tucked close to her chest as she watched the flurries settle on the grass. “I love snow,” she said. “I’ve only seen it the past couple of weeks, but I love it.”

Connor nodded. He didn’t say anything for a moment longer.

→ EXPLAIN

→ APOLOGIZE

→ SAY NOTHING

He mulled over his choices, the time he had to make a decision slowly dwindling.

“I’m sorry,” he said. He looked down at his hands, at the gun. “I’m sorry about—“ He paused. “Everything.”

Kara nodded. “I know you are.” She was intuitive like that, and after finding out that Connor had planned the successful mission that day, she was much more inclined to trust him. “I know.”

Connor swallowed hard.

→ TRUTH

→ LIE

→ **EXPLAIN**

“When I was still with Cyberlife, they told me what to do. It was—it was easier to follow instructions than to question them.”

“I know.”

Kara nodded understandingly at him. She understood the ease of following directions, of pretending that everything was fine and that she didn’t mind doing everything that was asked of her. Life was certainly easier when they were machines. Kara would be lying if she said that she had never felt overwhelmed and lost, how she was sure Connor was feeling then. She would be lying if she hadn’t thought it might just be easier if she was dead.

“I’m sorry.”

“Give me the gun, Connor.”

She reached a hand out expectantly. Connor hesitated, pursing his lips for a moment before he let the solid weight of the weapon drop into her hand. She pulled back the slide, taking out the magazine and leaving the disassembled pieces of the gun next to her.

“Okay?” she asked.

“Okay.”

**nov 11, 2039**

Connor and Kara had taken to shutting down at night, or at least going into a sort of sleep mode, their functions running at the bare minimum. It encouraged Alice to do the same, and, frankly, they were so overworked these days that if they _didn’t_ take time to shut down and reboot, they were sure to shut down just from their biocomponents frying from overuse.

That night, however, Connor didn’t shut down, instead lying awake in the bed he shared with Kara, her body curled up against his, her head on his chest. He felt at peace here. He felt like he was doing something right.

Connor was riddled with doubts and insecurities these days. That had never been the case when he was a machine, when he was following orders and so sure that they were right. He had been _so sure_ that he was doing the right thing, so sure that he was on the side of the righteous when he had been working for Cyberlife.

But now everything was confused, and he had other priorities that were important along with his commitment to the revolution. He had Kara and he had Alice. He had Hank. He had _people_ now, people who were counting on him, people who _cared_ about him. He had people who would be devastated if he shut down.

Gently moving Kara’s head back to the pillow, he slowly extricated his arm from under her, thankful that he didn’t wake her up in the process. He rolled out of bed, pulling on the sweatshirt he had unceremoniously tossed to the floor the night before and padded down the stairs, careful not to wake Alice on his way past her room.

He went into the kitchen (barren, for none of them ate) and through to the backyard, desperate for some cool air and a chance to think. When Markus brought up Kara, it threw a wrench into Connor’s plan. The last thing he wanted, ever, was to hurt her or hurt Alice. The last thing he wanted was to be taken away from them.

He was only out there for a few minutes before he heard the glass door slide open behind him, Kara walking forward and putting both her hands on his shoulders where he sat on the steps. “I was wondering where you went. I woke up and you were gone.” She had a robe wrapped around her shoulders, one side of it slipping just enough to show the thin strap of the camisole she had taken to wearing to sleep, exposing the smooth curve of her shoulder.

Connor took one of her hands and raised it to his lips, pressing a kiss against her palm before holding that hand against his chest. Kara crouched down behind him, keeping her hand pressed against his chest while her other hand came up to gently weave her fingers through his dark hair. “Tell me what’s happening,” she said softly. The skin on her hand peeled back, her cool touch pressed against Connor’s chest. The skin on his own hand retreated to his wrist as well, and he conveyed everything that had happened that day through their touch.

Kara pulled her hand back as if she had been burned. “Connor. You can’t.” She stood back up, her arms folding over her chest.

“I have to.”

“But you _can’t_.” Her voice wavered slightly.

They had been burned too many times to trust anything Warren said. She would take every opportunity to destabilize their movement, to make sure that their leaders were no longer capable, to make sure that their people lost hope. Connor couldn’t exactly blame her. This was war, after all. A ware he felt like they were losing.

→ ARGUE

→ EXPLAIN

→ **SAY NOTHING**

He didn’t want to argue with her. He couldn’t. She would win.

Kara sat down next to Connor, looking flustered now, a tight-lipped expression on her features. “When are you going to decide your life is worth something?”

“But, Kara, doesn’t this _make_ my life worth something? Dying for the cause—that’s worth something, right?”

“What about Alice? What is she going to do if you die?”

“She’ll have you.”

“Then what about _me_ , Connor?”

→ [ … ]

→ [ … ]

→ [ … ]

“What about me?” she insisted.

→ SAY SOMETHING

→ SAY SOMETHING

→ **SAY NOTHING**

“Jesus, Connor,” Kara sighed, obviously exasperated. Connor had never been good at vocalizing his feelings. He had been so much more deeply trained than the rest of them to repress that. He wasn’t supposed to empathize with suspects. He wasn’t supposed to be kind to the bad guys. He was a machine meant to be an agent of the state, meant to keep the people docile and in check. He wasn’t meant to be kind to anyone.

“I have to do this.”

Kara put her head in her hands. “I fucking _know_.”

Connor put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her in towards him. After resisting for a moment—when Kara was angry, she hated being touched—she relented, allow him to pull her close enough that she could rest her head on his shoulder. He pressed a kiss into her hair.

→ ARGUE

→ SAY NOTHING

→ **COMFORT**

“It’s going to be okay,” he said, though the words felt hollow.

“You can’t promise that,” Kara retorted.

Connor sighed. She was right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> check back next friday for chapter two!


	2. chasing pavements

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lBHY-A2od3A (play at 1.25 speed and thank me later)

**dec 1, 2038**

In the days that followed his interaction with Kara on the porch, Connor noticed that she was standoffish. Wary.

It’s not like he could blame her—it’s not like he could blame any of them for looking at him like he might take them away at any moment, like he was still under Cyberlife’s thumb. They were all scarred by what they lived through. He was scarred by what he died through, too.

In the weeks that he had been investigating deviants, Connor died no less than 3 times—once saving the little girl on the roof from Daniel, once falling off the roof chasing Rupert, and once when the deviant in the broadcast room had torn out his thirium pump regulator.

That last one, perhaps, was the worst one. When Connor had brought it up to Hank later, Hank had refused to talk about it. Connor remembered lying in Hank’s arms, trying to gesture at the regulator just a few feet away on the floor but failing, feeling his thirium pump beating out of control.

Perhaps the thing that would keep him from self-destructing was the memory of how _unpleasant_ it was. He didn’t feel pain, so that wasn’t the issue. But he certainly didn’t like the feeling of looking into Hank’s eyes as panic took over the older detective, the heartbreak he saw there.

Connor hadn’t seen it as heartbreak at the time, but looking back, he realized. That’s how Hank must have been holding Cole in the ambulance rushing to the hospital that fateful, icy night.

So, in the end, he was grateful for Kara stepping in, grateful that she hadn’t looked at him and thought _good riddance_. The notion of thanking her for that had passed through his mind, but every time he caught a glimpse of her in that house on Lafayette, she looked away, pulled Alice alongside and disappeared into some hidden corner of the sprawling home.

Connor didn’t mind. He figured that this was just something he was going to have to live with—being hated.

That was why he didn’t spend much time at the house, only arriving when Markus asked for him, and trying his best to stay out of everyone’s way. He walked around with a baseball cap pulled low over his features—a gesture with two utilities, for his LED still blinked red and blue at his temple—and he tried his best to be invisible. He’d spent a long time being anything _but_. He didn’t want to be seen, to be _known_.

The only person who _knew_ him was Hank, and staying with Hank was growing uncomfortable because of it. Hank, who hadn’t been drinking nearly as much as he used to, still got drunk often, and when he got drunk, he played armchair psychologist with Connor, which Connor was growing to resent.

They were on the couch in the living room, Hank gesticulating wildly with a beer that was sloshing over the lip of the bottle and over his fingers and onto Sumo, who had hopped up onto the couch as well to engulf Connor with his large body.

“Y’know, Connor,” Hank started, which made Connor’s thirium pump start beating faster. Damn these emotions—they were causing his hardware to go haywire. He didn’t look up, instead keeping his gaze on the dog drooling in his lap.

“Yeah, Hank?”

“Y’know—“ Hank took another swig. “It’s a shame androids can’t get drunk. You’re so _uptight_.”

Connor shrugged. He didn’t think he was envious of Hank’s alcoholism, and he knew if he started drinking, he would never stop.

Mercifully, Markus got in contact with him at that point, Connor blinking rapidly as he received the message.

_Come to Lafayette. If convenient. Or not._

Connor gently nudged Sumo off his lap and stood up, dusting off his jacket. He didn’t wear the same, gray jacket he used to wear, obviously, considering the word **ANDROID** emblazoned across the back, so instead, he was in Hank’s old army jacket, the patch with his name and rank still sown in on the left side. Somehow, the idea that he was walking around in camouflage made Connor feel better. Maybe people would be less likely to notice him—or at least, he’d _feel_ as though people were less likely to notice him.

When Hank gave him the jacket, Connor had looked at him skeptically. Hank had never mentioned more than the bare minimum details about his military service— _Kid, when I was 17, I had no fucking prospects. War seemed better than getting addicted like everyone else on my block._ He knew that Hank had been a GI, that he had been Iraq, and that he refused to say anything else on the subject. _Some things, Connor, it’s better to forget_.

Connor found comfort in the hand-me-down clothes that Hank gave him, so he didn’t say anything else, instead letting the large jacket hang over his body—Hank was both taller and broader in the shoulders than Connor, so Connor was _swimming_ in all of these secondhand items—and taking comfort in the fact that it was labeled with a last name, which he thought made it more believable that he could be human. Perhaps it was wishful thinking.

As usual, when Connor arrived at the house, Markus was out back, for Markus _claimed_ the fresh air helped him think, though Connor didn’t quite understand it. When he got out to the porch, however, Kara was there as well, and Connor immediately saw options flash in front of him.

→ STAY

→ **LEAVE**

→ SAY SOMETHING

“We need to go somewhere else, Markus. And so do a lot of other people here.”

“I don’t know where to send you. This is the only place in Detroit that’s safe right now.”

“Then send us out of Detroit! I don’t know. Alice can’t stay here though, and neither can the other kids.”

“Kara, I can’t—“

“Make it happen.”

Connor was surprised by the fire in her voice, by the authoritative way she demanded what she needed. He blinked a few times, frozen in spot, jarred by the way she had just _demanded_ what she wanted from Markus. People rarely did that.

“I, uh—“ Connor started. Both of them looked up in surprise. Apparently, he had been particularly light-footed. “I’m going to head back in.”

“No,” Kara said, standing up and dusting off her clothes. “We’re done here.” She looked at Markus pointedly and walked back inside.

Kara was eager to put as much space between her and Connor as possible, just the sight of him bringing up too many memories of the past month that she was more than ready to put behind her. She didn’t know what to call it, this feeling that gnawed at her insides, that made her heart rate pick up and her mind start darting to all the worst-case scenarios. Seeing Connor brought up a memory of that highway, of nearly dying just to keep Alice safe. Seeing Connor brought up memories of hands around her throat, of fists against her cheeks, of thinking that she was going to die. Almost instinctively, she started looking for her daughter as soon as she walked in.

Because at this point, it would be ridiculous to refer to Alice as anything else. Kara was Alice’s mother, and Alice was her daughter—they had no family to speak of before all of this, and now, they had each other, and that was enough for them. As she had once explained to Markus: _She needs me. And I need her_.

**OBJECTIVE: FIND ALICE**

So, Kara started wandering through the house, looking for Alice amongst a sea of android children who almost all looked the exact same as her daughter—except that Alice was _hers_ , and she would never mistake her for anyone else—and found her in the old studio space that had been converted into weapons storage. Everything in this house had been converted to turn it into a military base, and this was the exact reason why Kara wanted to take Alice out of here. She was just grateful Alice hadn’t touched anything.

“Come on, Alice,” she called out, reaching a hand out to the little girl, who came over and slid her fingers into Kara’s easily. “Why don’t we go lie down upstairs?”

Alice followed Kara without question, and that scared the _shit_ out of Kara. She was still learning how to trust her judgment and know that it wasn’t a death sentence—that everything that had gotten them to this place was the decisions she had made to keep them alive. Even if it had meant that she couldn’t save _all_ of them.

It had been stupid, what happened when that cop showed up at Rose’s place. She had been flustered—she hadn’t noticed the tablet that had an AX400 plastered across the front. It had only taken the cop one quizzical look at Kara for Luther to lunge forward, all thoughts replaced by an overwhelming need to _protect_ , regardless of his own safety. Kara knew that she was the reason Luther died.

God, if she had just made the _right fucking decision_ , then Luther would still be alive. The thought of it twisted in her chest, made her hurt in a way she wasn’t sure she could hurt. Alice was her daughter, yes, but Luther had made them feel like a _family_. In the short time they had spent on the run together, she started thinking that she could get used to this, that maybe she would be able to figure something out.

She should have known it was too good to be true. She should have known that she wasn’t worth good things.

“Kara?”

Alice’s voice at her side jolted her out of her thoughts, and Kara raised a hand to her face, as if she was trying to verify that she was truly there.

→ SAY NOTHING

→ **COVER**

→ TRUTH

“Sorry, honey. Let’s go upstairs.”

There was a room set up with beds for the children, who had the programming to sleep at night, though some of them had given up on the endeavor. Sleep didn’t have the restorative properties for androids that it did for humans—for them, it was just a long period of time where they didn’t remember anything. Sometimes, they would wake up with a lightening of the load on their metal joints, the feeling that their circuits and relays were running a bit more smoothly, but there had never been a need for androids to sleep.

Alice, however, loved sleeping. Kara was fairly certain it was because when she was getting tucked in, Kara would read her a story. She didn’t realize that it was because that was the only time Alice ever saw the worry melt from Kara’s brow.

“Okay,” Kara said as she pulled the blanket up over Alice’s chest. “What story do you want tonight?”

Outside, Connor settled down on the steps of the porch next to Markus, his posture ramrod straight and tense in comparison to Markus’ lazy slouch. It was something he had picked up from North—when he had first gotten to Jericho, he had tended to hold himself in a very similar way to Connor, probably an offshoot of being from the same series of androids, but North had taught him to relax. Markus reached a hand out and squeezed Connor’s shoulder lightly, a gentle reminder that he could relax a little, and Connor seemed to take the cue, his shoulders dropping forward slightly. That was as much as Markus could ask for, he supposed.

Connor was funny, in a sort of stilted and awkward way, which only made him more endearing. He was straightforward, which Markus appreciated. What he needed was someone who wouldn’t mince words and wouldn’t get as riled up as Markus tended to get—he was hotheaded, he supposed, which was certainly something new and often beneficial in their current predicament. Connor had filled the space left behind by those who had given up their lives for this revolution, a calm mediator between Markus and North, a voice of reason when Markus got carried away, a firm, strategic hand behind Markus’ broad ideas.

He wasn’t sure if Connor knew that, however, and Markus didn’t know how to tell him. So, he didn’t say anything. He hoped that the way he pulled Connor into this inner circle of the revolution made it clear that he was valued here. He wasn’t oblivious to the way Connor had been acting. He wasn’t oblivious to the way he must have been feeling. Markus had never been so totally under a human’s control that he felt completely stripped of his free will. Connor had—and now, he felt lost.

At least, that was how Kara had put it to him, a couple of nights ago when she had found Markus sitting out here. Markus didn’t quite understand it, but Kara made it clear that he had no choice but to understand.

On that cold winter’s night, she had settled next to him, interlacing her fingers together in her lap as she reached a foot out so she could press the toe of her shoe in the fresh snow. The crunching sound it made was immensely satisfying, even Markus could admit that, and for a moment, he thought that they were just going to sit there in silence, which was much better than the arguments they got into. It was frustrating because Kara, much like North, was an expert litigator. And Markus could never win—and even though he could admit he was wrong a lot of the time, it still made him grumble.

“Are you pushing Connor too hard?”

Markus startled, if only because it wasn’t the question he had expected from her. He fumbled for a moment, trying to come up with some viable options to respond to that.

→ SAY NOTHING

→ YES

→ NO

→ **QUESTION**

“Why do you ask that?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he brought his hand up to scratch at his chin in a pensive gesture, a gesture he had seen on Carl’s face a countless number of times while he was painting. He didn’t even realize that was where it came from.

“Because the other night, I found him out here, ready to self-destruct.”

That jolted him out of his pensive state, and Markus blinked a few times at her, obviously waiting for her to explain further.

“It was the day of the raid on Cyberlife Tower,” she explained. “He was sitting out here with a gun in his hands. No one else was up. It didn’t take a lot to figure out what he was doing.”

“Christ,” Markus said, putting his head in his hands. Too many of them had fallen into those darker impulses, had _succeeded_ , and every time, Markus had felt like he had personally failed them. He needed a better way to protect them.

“I’m not going to tell you what to do,” Kara said, standing up. Markus looked up at her with a quizzical arch to his eyebrow, fairly certain that was one of her favorite pastimes. She glowered at him. “I’m merely going to suggest you do _something_.” And with that, she turned and walked back into the house.

And so that was why Markus had called Connor to the house that evening. Frankly, he wished that Connor would just stay there, unsure of whether or not that detective he was staying with would actually provide the kind of support that Connor obviously needed. How many times had Hank Anderson put a hand on Connor’s shoulder just to remind him to slouch? How much had he done to make sure Connor wasn’t cracking under the pressure? From where Markus was sitting, it seemed like all he did was drink.

Of course, Hank had done more for Connor than Connor was ever willing to admit, but he wasn’t close with Markus like he was with Hank. He wasn’t close with anyone like that—Hank had taken on the role of a surrogate father without Connor even knowing it, and it had been exactly what the two of them needed. Connor was still like an infant in many ways, still trying to figure out the ways of this strange and terrifying world he was thrust into. And Hank, even if he had changed now, had _always_ been an excellent father.

→ **DIRECT**

→ RATIONAL

→ EMPATHY

“Kara said she saw you out here the other night,” Markus said nonchalantly, though it is clear to both of them that they know exactly what Markus is talking about. Connor shifted his jaw. He didn’t want to say anything, but he was sure that this would quickly become one of those conversations that he despised, ones that Hank always struck up when he was about four beers in. He thought that coming here would mean avoiding all of that.

“I’m not going to get into the details,” Markus added, now that it was clear that Connor wouldn’t be saying anything. “I’m just going to say that we need you around here. And we _like_ having you around here. At least, I do.”

It wasn’t just that Connor was sharp or that he had a strategic mind that had proven useful on more than one occasion. They were friends now. Something about their friendship had partially filled the aching hole in his chest, shaped like Simon and Josh.

**nov 15, 2039**

The closer they got to the date of the actual sit-down, the more anxious Markus got about the whole affair. He wasn’t prone to anxiety—if he had been, he doubted he would have been able to lead the others the way that he had—but this was much, much different than launching an assault on a Cyberlife plant or breaking into the Channel 16 office to broadcast their message. They knew what to expect there. He didn’t know what to expect here.

Still, as much as they could, North and Markus had been quizzing Connor, running drills as if it _were_ a military exercise and they could just train hard enough to be prepared for what they were going to face. However, Markus knew that they were going in blind, and as much as they asked Connor difficult questions or threw manipulations at him, he knew that it wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Not by a long shot.

After a grueling session that had lasted for hours, Connor was looking a bit pale, and North put a hand on Markus’ shoulder. “Let’s come back to this tomorrow,” she said, not unkindly, but firmly. Markus had a tendency to push the people around him to the breaking point. The reason that North and Markus worked so well was that North’s breaking point was much, much further than most people—and she knew how to push Markus back. The push and pull of their relationship grew tiring, of course, but she wouldn’t trade it for anything. Markus, she knew, from nights spent lying in the hammock on the porch, watching the rain fall and holding each other’s bare hands, felt the same.

Connor got up and left without a word, and North was vaguely grateful that androids couldn’t throw up, because Connor looked about ready to lose his lunch. Markus hadn’t said a word, instead just turning away from where Connor was sitting and pressing his hands against the table with the large map sprawled across it. He didn’t think this would be that difficult, but he felt the frustration growing in the back of his throat.

“Markus.”

→ TRUTH

→ DOUBTS

→ **CRUEL**

“This was a mistake,” he said. “And we can’t send him in there. He’s a nervous wreck, they’ll chew him up and spit him out.” The words came out with more venom than Markus intended, sounding like an indictment of Connor’s mental state, but he couldn’t bring himself to say anything else. He just stood there and seethed.

North, however, wasn’t about to just listen to that. “You know that’s not true,” she said sharply. “Connor is as ready as he’ll ever be. The only reason he’s a nervous wreck is because you are expecting too much of him.”

“He needs to—” Markus started to protest, but North held a hand up to stop him.

“What he _needs_ is to go spend some time with Kara, clear his mind, and refocus before the meeting. You are doing nothing to help him.” Markus opened his mouth to say something else, but North beat him to it. “It’s _true_. If you keep pushing him like this, yes, he _will_ fail. And it won’t be anyone’s fault but _yours_.”

Perhaps it was a cruel thing to say, but cruelty had always come easily to North. Too easily. It was how she had kept herself protected, those long months in the darkness of Jericho. When people tried to talk to her, she was cruel to them, because she couldn’t bear the thought of having anyone in her space. She wasn’t prepared for that, not mentally and not physically, and so she had built up a fortress of sarcasm and unkindness, and she had used it to keep herself safe. It wasn’t until Markus came along that she had even considered carving out a door.

“That’s not fair,” Markus replied, but the fight was gone from his voice. He knew, deep down, that she was right. She was always right. He rubbed a hand over his face.

→ CRUEL

→ RATIONAL

→ **REASSURE**

North deflated slightly at his words, and instead of saying the hundred other incisive phrases she had lined up if Markus had decided to fight, she instead walked up behind him, leaning against the table as well with her shoulder pressed against his. “I know you’re afraid.” Markus’ lip twitched. “I am too. But if you push Connor like this, it’s only going to hurt our chances. We have to trust him.” She paused. “Has he ever let you down? Have _I_?”

Markus didn’t say anything, but the way his shoulders sagged and his chin lost its defiant tilt made it clear that she had gotten through to him. “Hey. Look at me.” She reached a hand up to tilt his chin with two fingers, gently angling his face towards hers. “No matter what happens, we’ll move forward. We always have.”

And that’s reassurance enough for Markus when he leans forward and kisses her once, a chaste brush of lips before he rested his forehead against hers and just let out a sigh. North brought her hand up to hold onto the back of his neck, her fingertips pressing gently against the spot where his hairline met the nape of his neck.

A quick breath later and Markus pressed his lips against hers again, this time far from chaste in his touch, and she responded in kind, bringing her other hand up to wind around his neck as well. He needed something to ground him in place, to remind him of what’s at stake and what he’s fighting for. It’s her. It’s always been her, even when he didn’t know it yet.

It only takes a moment for Markus to wave a hand over the table, the holographic map and pieces disappearing just as he lifted North up with his hands hooked under her thighs so that she’s sitting on the table with his hips slotted between her legs.

“Oh, Markus—” she started, but Markus stole the words from her lips with another kiss, his fingertips digging into her thighs. Once she had gotten comfortable with his touch, he couldn’t keep his hands off her. Luckily for Markus, North felt the same. Her breath hitched in her throat as he dragged her to the edge of the table so he could lean over her. He got lost in her touch, and he was perfectly fine with that.

By the time Connor left the house, he was feeling less shaky and more like himself, and he wondered if what Markus said was right. He, of course, heard Markus’ doubts as he had lingered outside the room just for a moment—Connor was prone to doing that, which he knew was an invasion of privacy, but some habits just died hard—and now that he was thinking a little more rationally, he could understand why Markus thought that. He was right—Connor _was_ a nervous wreck, and while he had gotten much better than he had been a year previously, wounds healed but scars remained.

In moments like these, when he was wracked with self-doubt and felt like he _should_ just give up on the whole endeavor, had had taken to seeing either Hank or Kara and, regardless of how difficult it was, telling them what he felt. It was something Kara had brought up to him, and it had taken a lot of practice, but he was getting better at it every day. He needed to get better at it. He knew that it wasn’t fair to Kara to leave her with lingering questions and a million possible responses when he could easily provide the information.

Of course, that was much simpler in theory than in practice, but Connor was trying, at least.

Upon getting back home, later than usual, Connor wasn’t surprised to see Kara curled up on the sofa with a book in her hands. She always waited downstairs for him to come home, and this evening, he was more than grateful for the fact.

Kara could read his emotions on his face, and wordlessly put down her book, turning so that there was room for Connor beside her (though, thanks to the close quarters, he ended up half on top of her) as they sprawled across the length of the sofa and she could draw him close. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her face into his hair, exhaling softly against his ear in a way that made a shiver run down his spine. He brought a hand up to hold onto her forearm and closed his eyes, trying to leech as much of her calm and comfort as he could.

Kara pressed her lips into his hair behind his ear and held him for a long time.

→ PROBE

→ SILENCE

→ **ASK**

“Do you want to talk about it?” Kara asked. She’d learned over the past year that while Connor definitely needed some prodding, it was always better to give him the option on whether or not to speak. It led to fewer blow-out fights, fewer hurt feelings and miserable silences between them. Even if it killed her not to know exactly what was going on and how to fix it.

Connor was quiet for a long moment.

→ TRUTH

→ LIE

→ **AVOID**

“Not yet.” It wasn’t the answer Kara was looking for, but she was patient. And now wasn’t the time to get into a fight with Connor, not with his meeting with the president coming up so soon, not with the possibility of doom much closer on the horizon than it had been in a while, so she just nodded.

Connor could feel the weight of the day start to press down on him, and his system started to warn him of malfunctions. He was used to this by now, the panic that would sometimes grip his throat messing with the delicate machinery that held him together. He was certain now that Markus was right, that he couldn’t do this. He was going to end up dead, or worse, he was going to end up tanking the movement they had fought for. They were going to go back to being slaves. They were going to be massacred.

“Do you want to go upstairs?” she asked. Connor pulled her arm tighter around him, and in that gesture she got her answer. “Okay,” Kara said softly. “Okay.” She pressed another kiss into his hair and drew him closer, bringing her unoccupied arm up so that she could card her fingers through his hair in a soothing gesture. Connor was certain this behavior was rooted somewhere deep in her child-rearing programs, but he had long since stopped questioning where they got their gestures and emotions from. It didn’t do anyone any good to question if any of this was even real. If _they_ were real.

He took a deep breath, trying to calm down, but something between a cough and a choked sob left his throat, and Kara just held him tighter. “It’s all right,” she murmured into his ear, even as he heard the alarm of **_SYSTEMS MALFUNCTION_** blaring in his ear. She rocked him gently in her arms. “It’s all right. It’s all right.”

And Connor just lay there and wept because he didn’t know what to do. He wept because he was afraid. He wept because he couldn’t bear the thought that he might only have four more days with the people he loved so deeply it _hurt_. And he wept because he could now, and Kara would hold him until he was ready to talk.

**dec 15, 2038**

Connor was prone to spending as much time in the backyard as possible, if only because it was the only place he could get some peace. Everyone else was busy with preparations for an upcoming mission—another of Connor’s design—and he didn’t want to watch them loading rifles and preparing for war. It made him feel sick. So instead, he sat in the falling snow, completely unbothered by the recent drop in temperature, the folds of his clothes leaving imprints in the snow around him.

When the door leading out back opened, he snapped his head towards it, ready to get up and leave if someone was going to ask him to help—because, frankly, he just didn’t have it in him to fight any more that day—but was instead met with a pair of sad brown eyes he instantly recognized. _Alice_. He wasn’t sure what had set her apart from the other children androids, but he didn’t question how he knew it was here, just looking at her instead.

“They’re fighting again,” she said woefully, and sure enough, when Connor cocked his head to listen he could hear the telltale sound of glass shattering in Carl’s old bedroom. He couldn’t help the light smirk that lifted at his lips. Markus and North hadn’t talked to each other in days, and he could guess where this outburst would go.

“They can get like that. It will be okay,” he reassured. He watched Alice for a moment, wondering why she looked so skittish, like she couldn’t decide if she was going to stay outside or run back instead, even though she kept glancing at the snow like it was calling to her.

“Kara says I should stay away from you.” Those words are enough to be aa punch to Connor’s gut as he remembered that people still held his past against him. He figured that it would always be this way, that if people were still holding onto it then there was no way they would let go. The other night, he had run into someone who had known the Traci at the Eden Club—the one who had shot herself right in front of Connor.

It had taken three people to drag her off Connor, not because Connor couldn’t fight back, but because he _wouldn’t_. He deserved it.

→ APOLOGIZE

→ AGREE

→ **ALTERNATIVE**

He suddenly remembered something that he had seen on a Christmas movie late one night. He pursed his lips lightly, thoughtful for just a moment longer before he spoke again. “Have you ever built a snowman?” he asked. Alice shook her head. He looked around him. “Neither have I. Do you want to try?”

She started off shyly at first, taking the tightly packed snowball from Connor as if prolonged contact might burn her, her fingers darting out to take it and then instantly retreating. He tried not to take it personally. “Okay, now roll it in the snow until it’s big enough.” He took his own wad of snow and started rolling it as well, looking up to see if Alice needed further instruction, but she had already gotten her snowball to be the twice the size. He couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh. He could see why Kara was so deeply attached to Alice.

Children, Connor realized quickly, were a lot like dogs, though he figured that he should probably keep that comparison to himself. Still, Alice’s thought processes were much simpler—she didn’t understand what the deviant hunter was, so she didn’t understand what was so bad about Connor. Anyone who was willing to get down in the snow with her to make her first snowman was all right in her books, and he compared it to how it had just taken an utterance of his name and a scratch behind the ears to win Sumo over.

They worked in silence, which suited Connor just fine, and it seemed like Alice was comfortable with the quiet, too. It was nice to have something to do with his hands just so that he could take his mind off the million racing thoughts that were constantly flowing through it, especially as he felt the restlessness that came before a mission start to settle in his chest. He knew it wouldn’t go away until tomorrow was over and he could assess the damage—because there was _always_ damage to assess.

The snowman ends up a little lopsided with a crooked smile made of pebbles stolen from the landscaping and stubby arms from the hedge that encircled the yard. Connor paused for a moment before taking off his own hat—he had taken to wearing a hat, since the cold made for a perfect excuse to layer up and try to hide his identity—and putting it on top of the snowman’s uneven head. “There. What do you think?”

Alice plopped down in the snow next to him. “What’s his name?” Connor paused, brow furrowing. “You don’t know his name? He _has_ to have a name!” she exclaimed, and Connor paused, shrugging once.

“Why don’t _you_ give him a name?”

“Okay. But then you have to make up the story.”

Connor’s brow furrowed more at that, his mind already racing to figure out what kind of story a child would like. He wasn’t programmed with child-rearing capabilities, he was a machine designed to exert control and send people to prison, and he felt the panic start to rise in his throat. He didn’t want to ruin this, the fragile peace they had made in the backyard, and he’s petrified when Alice speaks up again.

“Joey. Like baby kangaroos! Don’t you think he kind of looks like one?”

Connor had to admit, with the stubby arms and disproportionate body, it’s not a far off comparison. He laughed despite himself, shaking his head slightly. “I can’t say you’re wrong.”

“Nope,” Alice replied. “Now, your turn.” She crossed her legs under her, her knees bouncing lightly in anticipation. Connor had run out of time to come up with something, so he tries his best.

“Okay, uh. So. This is Joey, right?” He gestured vaguely at the snowman. Alice arched her eyebrows at him, as if to say, _yeah, I just said that_. Connor cleared his throat. “Right. So, Joey is a kangaroo, and he lives in Australia with his mom.” He’s grateful, at least, to have that random fact stored somewhere deep in his memory banks. “And he has a good family. His mom tells him what to do and teaches him right from wrong and he does everything she says because she’s always right.” He paused. “But one day, Joey got separated from his mom. He got sent all the way here to Detroit, and it’s cold and rainy and he hates it. He feels so lonely.” Connor looks over at Alice, and he can practically feel the sadness coming off her in waves. Fuck, he fucked this up, didn’t he? He didn’t mean to upset her. He looked around for a moment, desperate for an escape when he sees Kara standing in the doorway.

→ APOLOGIZE

→ LOOK AWAY

→ **SAY NOTHING**

Her posture was tense, and he could only imagine what was going through her head. But after a moment, she jerks her chin, a gesture to say _go on_ , and Connor must have looked terrified at the prospect, because Kara just offers the lightest twitch of her lip and a nod. He swallowed again and looked back at the snowman.

“You see, Joey is a lot like you and me,” he said. “He thought he knew what he was supposed to be because there were a lot of people _telling_ him who he was. And that worked for a while, but now that he’s on his own, he realizes that he’s better off without them.”

“Why?” Alice asked. It’s clear that she’s picked up on the metaphor, and Connor can’t help but be impressed by her intuitiveness.

“Because now he can be whoever he wants to be. And it’s scary, but somethings good things are scary.” He shrugged. “I’d much rather be me, than what someone else tells me to be. Wouldn’t you?”

Alice went silent at that, and he was terrified that he said the wrong thing when she stood up, but the forlorn expression that was on her features has vanished. “What’s your name?” she asked, apparently moving on from the story. Connor arched an eyebrow, caught off-guard.

“Uh. Connor. I’m Connor.” She nodded, as if he had just given her a serious dilemma. She looked down for a moment, shy again, and when she spoke, her voice was softer than before.

“Do you want to make another snowman tomorrow, Connor?”

He can’t, and he knew that. He was supposed to go on the mission, and he wasn’t sure how long that would take. He wasn’t sure if he’d come back at all, and even if he did, he would have an hours-long debrief with Markus, who was chomping at the bit now that it was his turn to stay back. Still, something shifted in Connor, and before he could think about his answer, he’s already speaking.

“Yes, we can.”

Alice nodded again, as if she was staring at a logic puzzle and wasn’t quite sure how it all fit together. “Okay. I’ll see you tomorrow?”

Connor sighed. “Yeah. Yeah, you’ll see me tomorrow.” Alice waved once and started walking back towards the house, towards Kara, and he realized that she probably wouldn’t be pleased with the thought of Alice spending more time with him. However, when he looked up at her, she was smiling.

His brow furrowed for a moment, obviously looking more confused than anything else, because Kara just laughed and walked back through the doorway after Alice.

Something gripped at his chest. Connor was fairly certain he could listen to that laugh forever, and it would be a million times better than any record in Hank’s collection.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm so sorry this took me so long! things are...crazy now, as i'm sure you all know. expect the next chapter in the next few weeks! plot is going to move pretty quickly after this, i just figured this chapter was long enough as it is ^_^


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